Love is a Truly Unsolvable Case Chapter 1
by bettertohaveloved
Summary: Abigail Howley is a trained spy and assasian sent to get the famous Sherlock Holmes. But will she be able to do so without falling for or getting caught by the charming detective?
1. Chapter 1

"What do I need to do?"

"Bring me this man. Sherlock Holmes."

I nodded and left the office to examine the folder that was given to me. I needed no further information from the man other than the folder. I don't even know his name. All I know is that he can pay me even more that what I do is probably worth. He's given me quite a pretty penny already for supplies alone.

Perhaps I should introduce myself: I am – or currently am- AbigailHowell. Before Abigail, I was Eliza.

Before Eliza, I was Felicity. And before that; Susan. I've also been Catherine, Tabitha, Rachel, Thomas, Michael… and so continues the list.

Confused? Good. My job isn't to inform you of the truth. Just the opposite as it happens. I am a spy, an agent, and the occasional assassin. And a damn good one at that.

I can honestly say that most of the time, I am quite happy with what I do. It's far more rewarding than being a useless pouting wife to some self-absorbed, sexist pig of a husband. Even if it is what I need to pose as.

I got to my flat just as dusk was settling in. I opened the heavily locked door, lit some candles and set to work.

I opened the very think folder that had all the information I could possibly need on this man and his partner.

NAME: Sherlock Holmes_________________NAME: Dr. Jonathan Watson, M.D._  
SEX: Male____________________________SEX: Male___________________  
AGE: mid 30's_________________________AGE: Early-mid 30's____________  
HIGHT: 5'9__________________________ HEIGHT: 6'1___________________  
WEIGHT: 165 lbs_____________________WEIGHT: 173__________________  
EYES: brown_________________________EYES: blue____________________  
HAIR: black__________________________HAIR: light brown_______________  
FAMILY: N/A_________________________FAMILY: fiancé, Mary Morstan,______  
________________ mother, Kendra Watson and_______  
________________ younger brother, George Watson

Both currently reside at 221B Baker St. London, England.

Holmes is extremely observant, resourceful and professional. Often in the company of Dr. Jonathan Watson who, like Holmes, is very skilled in multiple kinds of combat as well as disguise. Holmes seems to keep only to himself and Watson whom is like his brother: probably his only weakness.  
Holmes is an eccentric, but still a gentleman and enjoys being glorified.

**DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE EITHER OF THEM UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE.**

Also included were a large list, pages long, of cases he's solved, routines he has, and several detailed sketches of both Holmes and Dr. Watson.

I couldn't help but notice the sketches portrayed Holmes as quite… attractive. In a rugged and unkempt way, but attractive nonetheless. Dr. Watson was also rather handsome but more clean-cut. I studied their faces and features and decided who Abigail Howell should be.

I decided, after some time, that Abigail is an upper-class (but not so upper-class that the family is well-known) young lady, who's mother, Jane, had died in childbirth due to an early labor. Abigail's father, Thomas has resented Abigail on some level and she eventually left to experience life by herself. These characteristics make Abigail strong emotionally, but still seemingly vulnerable and naïve.

And all at once I had my plan to get Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke particularly early the next day to ready for my departure. I observed my enormous selection of clothes I've used for different cases. I have everything from near royalty to a homeless man, all of which was arranged from highest class to lowest. I selected some of my several upper-middle class dresses and packed them in one of my suitcases and wore a maroon colored one along with a matching hat over my brown pinned-up hair. Nothing too flashy, but clearly shows my class.  
I used silver earrings paired with a locket with a capital "H" to accessorize with. I have the same locket with every other letter of the alphabet as well, which is a small but important detail that goes a long way when trying to convince someone of the kind of family you're from.  
I also kept my make-up rather simple. Eyes-shadow that matched my dress, red lipstick, and a light pink blush.

Almost ready.

The man I was working for had already called a coach to take me to London where I would be staying in a nice hotel a few blocks from 221B Baker Street. Close, but not too close to my target.  
Promptly at 9:00, as promised, was a knock on my door. I answered to see a rather tall rugged looking man whom I knew to be my friend and co-worker, David. He smiled coyly at me.  
"Well, you sure are looking the part."  
"I could say the same to you, David. A job well done."  
"So far at least. Where are your trunks?"  
"Right over there."  
David, who would be helping me in this case, brought my three very bulky trunks to the door one by heavy one.  
"Packed lightly, I see." He said with a groan dumping them with a dull 'thud' on the ground.  
"Lighter than I could have. And be careful with those, I need them."  
"You better, for what these weigh. What's in them, anyway?"  
"Some guns and knives, extra supplies, notepads, and, of course, my array of girlish effects. "  
"Well next time, you're posing homeless." He said as he heaved the trunks up and carried them down several flights of stairs, complaining all the while.  
"Son of a—"  
"Don't use such vulgar slander in front of me. I'm a lady, remember?"  
"Just about as much a lady as I am, missy." He grumbled as he dropped my luggage in the trunk. I hit on the head with my purse.  
If this were another case and I were another person, David would have playfully shoved me back or something of the like. He was my only true friend and over the years we've become close enough for him to rough me up as I do to him. We've both taken an equal amount of beating from one another which I very much appreciate on the level that he doesn't underestimate me.  
However, because we were in public and I was an upper-class young woman and he was just a working class citizen he just had to take it with a smile.  
We both got into the carriage and discussed the plan.  
"So what exactly are we doing?" David asked  
"According to the file, Holmes and Watson typically go to a little coffee place on Saturdays at noon. They return back at about 12:30. There's a little ally-way that leads to another part of town that's under construction. I'll be down there "exploring the city" and that's where you come in. Your job is to attack me in some way to which I will scream, catching the attention of Holmes. He'll then valiantly save me from your evil clutches and I'll be the flattering damsel in distress that he won't be able to resist. I'll get to know him, and get him to trust me and eventually lead him back to… whoever we're working for. Simple, but so simple I don't think he'll suspect anything."  
"How do you know Holmes will be the one to 'rescue' you?"  
"Because he hasn't had a case for some time now and is desperate for adventure."  
"And what better adventure than saving a pretty little rich girl? But what about the police…?"  
"Are out doing other things. One of the papers describes that section of town and it's more or less a free-for-all. They don't have police patrolling the area, it's relatively safe."  
"What makes you think he'll trust you?"  
"Because he won't have any reason not to. I appear innocent enough, don't I?"  
"I suppose. So when I "attack" you…"  
"You must truly hit me. If I'm wounded, Watson, as a doctor and a gentleman will be obliged to bandage up poor little me."  
"How hard are we talking?"  
"A believable amount. Not out cold or anything, but cuts and bruises preferably."  
"Fair enough. What will they're reactions be?"  
"Well, according to the file, they've only killed several people: all of which were accidental. You're considerably larger than both of them, so no worries as far as serious damage."  
"One more question: how much of the sum goes to me?"  
"It depends on the job you do. Remember, after I leave this carriage, neither of us are to communicate in any form with the exceptions of letters that you will write posing as my father. Burn this after reading. Good luck."  
I handed David a sheet I made for him including Abigail's details to make the letters more believable. As the carriage slowed to a stop.  
"See you at 12:30 then."

We shook hands and I emerged as Abigail Howley. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Two quick things before the story:**

**Just wanted to say thanks a million to those of you that reviewed! I feed off of it :D **

**I am aware that some of the details I've made so far aren't completely accurate. For example, the information sheet that Abigail, it says Holmes doesn't have any family when he does in fact, have a brother (Mycroft…yeah… I don't know who named these kids) etc. So there are some things I may be missing out on. In my defense, I was lost in RDJr's eyes for most of Sherlock Holmes and didn't know the plot the first time I saw it. I blame him entirely. Anyway, the gist of this ramble is that if I mess up again it would be much obliged if those of you who are still reading this and care to point out any mistakes you see. **

**THANK YOU AND HERE IS YOUR STORY:**

Judging by the sun in relation to the horizon, it was approximately 10:45.  
The carriage had stopped right outside of the hotel, called, interestingly enough, the Grand Hotel. I entered the large white reception room and checked in with the man behind the counter.  
"Hello. Abigail Howley, please?" I smiled sweetly and changed the register of my voice just slightly higher so as to sound more feminine and innocent. The small black-haired man smiled back, checked his papers and handed me a key.  
"Here you are, Miss Howley. If you could just follow this man…" the receptionist gestured to a young man, (new here, judging by his anxious looks and rigid posture trying far to hard to seem natural) struggling with my luggage. I suppressed the urge to laugh as he guided me to my room-- up many flights of stairs-- with shaking legs. I unlocked the door and he dropped my suitcases and caught his breath.  
"Is there—anything else-- I could—get you?"  
"No, but thank you very much, sir." I said as I tipped him quite well  
"No, thank _you_, ma'am. Enjoy your stay."  
"I'm sure I will."

He finally left and I observed the room. It was every bit as grand as the hotel it had been named for. The contrasting pale greens and gold hues along with the elaborate architecture were all very French. The room had been occupied not several hours ago which was given away by the diminutive amount of dust and the empress on the bedcovers where the chambermaids hand was to smooth it out and the smallest of imprints in the carpet where the maids shoes had been stepping. Poor thing was overworked. The impression of where she lay down for a bit on the couch and the rather sloppy job of dusting told me that much. I snapped myself back into the present and started unpacking.

As promised, there were several loose floorboards in the closet where I could keep my personal effects well hidden, providing the area around said space isn't stepped on by anyone who would notice the considerable difference in the feeling of the hollowness of the floor. I set up the rest of my dresses, make-up and so on and soon enough it was time for the first part of my plan.

I strolled around for a bit before it was time to enter the ally. London was truly an exciting and busy city. People everywhere chattering up a storm going in different directions without any regard to others. Much different from the quiet little town I was just getting used to previous to this case. I slipped into the dark cold ally-way. I checked my pocket-watch.

It was exactly 12:33.

Any second now.

A strong hand grasped my upper arm.  
"'Scuse me, miss." Said a gruff voice I knew to be David in full character. I turned around in faked surprise and he struck me across the face and attempted to take my purse. I let out a high-pitched scream, not too screechy. I clutched my purse to me, "trying" to fight him off. I waited a moment before I screamed again and he punched and pushed me to the ground, true to his ethos.  
He was atop me in a moment, still beating me to the ground, but not with the full force I know he's capable of. He was playing his part almost _too_ well and my instincts to really fight back were not far from taking over.

And then in a second with a grunt and a thud, David was off of me and fighting a man. He was considerably smaller than David with unkempt dark hair and scruff.

Sherlock Holmes.

He was a surprisingly good fighter, especially for a detective. He jumped and came down with a blow that knocked David on the back of the head. As David was bent over, Holmes then kicked him in the gut and with a sickening crunch broke at least two ribs, several most likely fractured. David was now on the ground on his back and just before he was able to get up, Holmes jumped on his shoulder, completely dislocating it. David kicked Holmes in the back of the leg, causing him to fall over, roll away, and get up. He faked a punch on the left, which David went to block, but then got him square in the jaw on the right side and hooked him from under the chin cracking his jaw and severely hurting his neck. Holmes managed to grab hold of David's left wrist and twist until that also snapped.

Meanwhile, someone I was sure to be Dr. Watson lifted me to my feet.  
"Are you alright?!" he asked supporting me. I felt the warm wetness of blood spill across my brow, and cheek from ground debris. I was rather cut and bruised up, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I met the doctor's eyes  
"You're going to be fine. I'm a doctor." He assured me.  
I saw David run away from the scene and I silently congratulated him on a job well done. Holmes wiped sweat from his brow and walked over to Watson and I.

"What was the damage?" Watson asked to his partner  
"Two ribs broken, several others fractured, completely dislocated shoulder, cracked jaw and broken left wrist."  
Watson turned his attention back to me. "We'll find him soon enough. He won't get far. Holmes, why don't you assist this young lady back to our rooms where I can properly treat her. I'll go and alert the authorities. You'll be just right in no time." He assured me again. I smiled weakly and nodded.  
"Thank you, Doctor."  
Watson returned the smile and set off to find the police. As soon as he let go of me I noticed the sharp pain in my right ankle. It wasn't too bad- I've walked with far worse, but as I was playing the delicate flower, I began to fall. Holmes swiftly caught me as I knew he would.

"Do you think you'll be able to walk?" he asked, arm tightly around my waist.  
"I… I think so." I said. I tried putting weight on my foot but the pains were just as sharp. I exaggeratedly gasped at the feeling as Holmes got on my right side, put my arm around his shoulders, his arm still around my waist and supported most of my weight.  
It was the first time I really looked at his face. And I must say the sketches in the book didn't do him justice. His large brown eyes framed with dark eyelashes gleamed with intellect, his jaw was strong and decorated with scruff, his nose was ever so slightly lopsided, his lips were- and it pains me to say this- appealing. He smelled of tobacco, baked goods and had a hint of various chemicals. I could feel the strength in his arms as he supported me. Of course, none of this is allowed to affect me emotionally. And it wasn't. I was just observing.

"That was really brave of you. Saving me like that. You aren't hurt, are you?" I asked sincerely, looking up at him through my eyelashes. He smiled crookedly at me  
"Of course not, I've been through far worse, trust me." He said smugly. His expression was lost quickly and I could almost hear his inner regret of sounding too self-confident. I was pleased, this meant that he was conscious of what he was saying to me.  
"Do you get yourself into dangerous situations quite often then?" I played along  
"You have no idea."

We got to the staircases that lead to what I assumed was Watson and Holmes' rooms. Holmes looked from the top of the staircase to me.  
"Put your arms around my neck, carrying you will be much faster."  
I did as he told me and he literally swept me off my feet and went up the stairs with ease. He gently let me down at the top of the staircase and resumed his previous position of supporting my weight.  
"Be a dear and don't tell the doctor. I'm not supposed to lift and move patients as a rule. Something about 'further harm to the injuries', 'I'm not a qualified doctor' and such babble'."  
"It can be our secret." I smiled at him.

"I'm sorry, we haven't even been properly introduced. My name is Abigail Howley." I said as I gave him my hand to shake.  
"_Enchanté__._ Sherlock Holmes." He said, kissing my hand, not breaking eye contact. I could feel myself turn red under his gaze and I wish I could say that it was purposeful.

Thankfully there was a knock at the door and Watson entered.  
"I just alerted the police, and they'll be able to track that monster down in a moment." The Doctor took off his coat and came over to Holmes and I, "What did I tell you about cleaning up your mess?" he hissed at Holmes who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. The doctor let out a sigh of aggravation at his roommate and turned over to me.  
"Hello, I'm Dr. John Watson, and this pig here is Sherlock Holmes."  
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Watson. I'm Abigail Howley. I can't thank either of you enough for saving me back there; I don't know what I would have done without you."  
"Don't think a moment on it, we were happy to do it. Weren't we, Holmes?"  
"Yes, downright jubilant." He said dryly. Holmes seemed to have acquired a pipe and was lounging in the doctors desk chair, watching.  
"Please excuse him if you can. How's that ankle of yours?" Watson asked  
"It hurts a bit but I'm sure it's not broken. Twisted, perhaps."  
"Lets take a look then, shall we?"  
Watson examined my ankle carefully applying different kinds of pressure and feeling around. Holmes was continuing watching my every move and though I caught his eye several times, I tried not to notice him.  
"Well, you were right about it being twisted, but it's certainly not broken. Should be right as rain in a day if that, just be sure to keep it moving for the lubrication between the bones and so on. Is anything else hurting? That man hit you quite badly." He said, taking my face into his hand and looking at the cuts and bruises  
"Nothing too bad, mostly just the ankle. I must be a fright to look at though." I said with a smile.  
"Not at all" The doctor laughed, "Let's get you cleaned up though." He wet a cloth in the sink and gently wiped the blood off of my face and put a sort of clear cream on the cuts. "All better. The cream will keep out any infection. An innovation of our very own Mr. Holmes as a matter of fact." I smiled warmly at both of them. Watson smiled back and Holmes seemed to be caught off guard.  
"Thank you so much. Both of you. Allow me to take you out to dinner tonight as a small token of my appreciation. It's the least I could do."  
"I do wish I could, but I have an appointment with my fiancé and her parents. An appointment I've been putting off for far too long as it happens. I don't believe Holmes has plans tonight though." Watson seemed sincere enough, but Holmes seemed startled to be put on the spot in such a way.  
"Well… I wouldn't want to exclude you from any festivities, Doctor." Said Holmes  
"Oh, but I insist! I simply must do something for you!"  
"The lady insists, Holmes." Watson said pointedly. There was a moment of tension between them and they seemed to have an entire conversation via several seconds of eye contact.  
"I'd love to." Holmes finally responded.


	4. Chapter 4

"…I'd love to." Holmes finally responded.  
"Excellent. Does the Royal at seven o'clock work for you?"  
"Sounds perfect." Watson was glaring at Holmes for his dry answers. Holmes glared right back at him.

"Well… I should probably be on my way now."  
"Is there anything more I can do for you, Miss Howley? Shall we accompany you home?" Watson asked  
"No, no, no, I needn't bother you any more-"  
"Nonsense! Let me get you a crutch at least!" The doctor quickly got a wooden crutch from a supply closet and handed it to me, "Is that a good size?"  
"Perfect. Thanks so much."  
"Don't think a moment on it. Let me assist you to the door."

Watson and I made our way back through the cluttered room, down the stairs and to the door slowly but surely with the rather inconvenient crutch. Holmes followed, but in the interest of observing rather than chivalry.  
"You're positive you won't be able to join us, Doctor Watson?"  
"I do wish I could, but I'm sure you'll have a lovely time with Mr. Holmes."  
"I'm sure we will. I'll have to make it up to you another time then. You've both been positively wonderful."  
"As I said, don't worry about it. You're sure we can't assist you home?"  
"Oh, no, you've already done more than enough for me. Good-bye Doctor I look forward to seeing you soon. And Mr. Holmes, I look forward to seeing you tonight."  
"Good-bye, Ms. Howley, I'll be in touch. Be sure to take only main roads on your way back!" Watson said enthusiastically. Holmes acknowledged my departure with a grunt and a nod, though the moment the door shut, I could hear him come to life in a muffled rage of arguments.  
I went around the right side of the building into an ally way, making sure my crutch didn't touch the street incase Holmes saw any trace of it. I stood near a large dumpster underneath some of their windows which, thankfully for me, happened to be open. My position in relation to the dumpster in relation to the window was impossible to perceive from their angle. I heard the faint footsteps as the duo made their way back to their rooms.  
"…perfectly lovely; I don't know why you're being so fussy." Came Watsons voice  
"Fussy? Nay, nay, Watson, I am being _sensible_. Why should I go to dinner with this girl whom we know nothing about? I could be doing something useful!"  
"Such as?"  
"Experiments! Investigations! Anything but wasting my time with some unknown girl –who- by the way could be potentially dangerous! She could have it in for me! What if, dear Watson, you have sent your best friend and colleague to his death by setting him up with this woman? What if everything she's been telling us is a lie? What if it's all a ploy? What if—"  
"HOLMES!" Watson yelled and took a sigh of aggravation. "Holmes, who was the last person you've spent any time with one-on-one, excluding me? Who was the last _woman_ you've spent time with? I am telling you as a friend and doctor, that this is a good thing for you. You need to get out. For your own health. _And_ if worst comes to worst, and behind those big innocent eyes lies a homicidal maniac with only the most evil of intent, than maybe, _just_ maybe, with God along your side and a prayer in your heart, will you be able to stop all 98 lbs of her and her malicious deeds."  
"She was at _least_ 115 lbs, Watson; don't underestimate."  
"Oh, for Gods sake! You know; if you let yourself, you might actually have a good time! She seemed to be smart enough, sweet, and- I'm sure you've noticed- very attractive."  
"So I should go to my impending demise because the killer who's invited me is _pretty_?"  
"If you continue acting like this, _I'll_ be the cause of your death."

The bickering continued, but I decided I've heard enough.


End file.
